The old grey eyes look down into an untended garden.
The window, covered with a decade of grime, gives no proper view of what lays beyond. Her memories are coming hard and fast again. Her wizened fingers twitch unnoticed on her pen. She could see his face now, clearly. Ruddy and beaming when they first met. Watery eyes filled with sadness in bad times. His smile, when giving vows in the church. His frown, when told that they could have no children. She focused for a while on the eyebrow that always sat a little higher, and the spot on his chin that looked like a pimple, but wasn’t.
She scribbled away for a minute or two. No marks were made on her fading writing pad. Her ball-point, dried up ages ago. Purblindness had been with her for years now.
She gave a wheezy sigh when remembering the end. It was peaceful. The vicar was very understanding.
More unseen marks were made.
There was so much to record. So many memories. The echoes of all those past times that swam inside her head. They should not be lost. She was determined to capture as much as possible before being moved to a place where her memories were sure to fade.
A final scratching and a slow leaning back in her chair, indicating that she would let it go for now. Her daily ritual completed. Happy with what she had done. The pen dropped. The eyes closed.
More tomorrow.